Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“I’m glad you’re here,” Chance says. “We need to have a piece of property appraised and then pay Rick Vance the difference between the fair market value and what my father paid him for it.”
“Who the hell is Rick Vance?” Shankle asks.
“The mayor of Bayfield.”
He pauses a moment and then shakes his head. “Right. Well, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”
“We know we can’t get our money for a year,” I say, “but can’t we make an exception? The mayor thinks our esteemed father screwed him over, and from the little I know about the asshole, he probably has a case.”
“Rick Vance—hell, the entire city of Bayfield—is the least of your problems right now.” Shankle adjusts his bolo, loosening it as if he’s choking.
“What’s going on?” Miles asks.
“I got a phone call from a source at the DOJ this morning.”
“The Department of Justice?” Miles’s eyes widen.
Shankle nods and then clears his throat so gruffly I’m convinced he’s going to hock a hunk of phlegm right onto the marble coffee table.
“And…?” Miles prods.
Another throat clear. “Apparently your father’s death has put some…things in motion.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I say on a groan.
“Apparently, as long as he was alive,” Shankle continues, “there were certain fail-safes in place. But his death triggered the release of some information that would have been better left buried.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Chance says. “Just what are you getting at?”
“The DOJ has probable cause to believe that your father was involved in some criminal activity, and they’re petitioning to have all of the Bridger assets frozen.”
I drop my jaw.
Miles drops his jaw.
Chance drops his jaw. “You’re kidding, right?”
Shankle leans in and aims his gaze at Chance. “Would I have come out here unannounced if I were kidding?”
“Exactly what type of criminal activity was he involved in?” Miles asks.
“Allegedly involved in,” I remind him, not that I’m on the dead guy’s side. I’ve tried and found my sperm donor guilty in my head. Too bad he’s dead and can’t rot in a prison cell for all the shit he seems to have done.
Shankle coughs into his hand, this time sounding like he’s about to choke up a lung.
“You need to lay off the smokes,” Chance says.
Shankle ignores him. “I assume at least you, Chance, know that your father had other investments outside the ranch.”
“Sure,” Chance says casually.
“First, let me assure you that all the money generated from the Bridger Ranch is clean. I made sure your father’s personal funds were never commingled with that of the family land.”
An anvil settles in my gut. I’ve got a real bad feeling about what’s coming.
“Just spit it out.” Miles rakes his fingers through his blond locks.
“Bridger Investments has majority holdings in many chemical plants throughout the US and Canada. The DOJ says they have evidence that several of the plants here in the states have been illegally disposing of hazardous materials in direct violation of EPA regulations. If these allegations are proved…”
“Just say it,” Chance says.
“There are criminal penalties.” Shankle coughs again.
“You mean prison time?” I ask, completely astounded. What the fuck have I walked into?
“Yes, but since you and Miles have had nothing to do with your father’s business, it won’t affect either of you.”
“Hey”—Chance rises, his gaze landing on Shankle—“I knew—know—nothing about my father’s other holdings. He shared nothing with me. Nothing.”
“And you never asked?” Shankle says.
“The few times I did, he told me to mind my own fucking business. I’m a rancher. That’s it. I had nothing to do with anything else.”
“It’ll be a harder sell since you lived and worked beside him.” Shankle adjusts his bolo. “But we can probably prove you knew nothing.”
I regard my youngest half brother. His fair complexion has gone even paler. He’s scared, and pissed based on the way his jaw is clenched. For good reason. Chance has been a pain in my ass, but the man’s not a criminal.
“That’ll keep you out of the slammer,” Shankle continues, “but that’s not the only criminal penalty you might get. There are hefty fines. Plus you three will be ordered to clean up your mess.”
“Our mess?” This time I stand. “We didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“No, but your father did, and someone has to take responsibility in civil court. You’re his heirs.”
Right. The billion fucking heirs.
“For fuck’s sake.” I shake my head.
“Look, nothing’s been proven yet, but they clearly have evidence, otherwise they wouldn’t be threatening to freeze the assets.”
“Something is off about this.” Chance stands and paces behind the oversized leather couch. “My father may have been a first-class bastard, but he wasn’t stupid. If he had a fail-safe in place, he would have made arrangements for an untimely demise.”
“Yeah, he had enough time to create his ironclad will that’s got me sitting here instead of getting bagels at a shop on Fifty-Eighth Street,” Miles says.